


Ballad for the Darkmoon

by arieldreemurr



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nudity, Parental Abuse, Sexual Content, Trans Female Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arieldreemurr/pseuds/arieldreemurr
Summary: A drastic re-interpretation of the lore of Dark Souls that reads Dark Sun Gwyndolin, a highly misunderstood and mocked character, as a transgender woman and explores more overtly LGBT+ themes in this story about her life.
Relationships: Darkmoon Knightess/Dark Sun Gwyndolin, The Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein
Comments: 33
Kudos: 51





	1. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Darkness. What took you so long?

_He's going to kill me..._

  
Darkness had finally caught up to her. She writhed in the thick ooze of the monster's sludge, it's tendrils tightening around her broken limbs whenever she tried to resist. The bones of the creature's myriad victims rubbed against her flesh, causing her to shiver even more. She was among them because she was destined to become one with them, subsumed within the filth and refuse that was this worm. And many more would follow as long as it was allowed to roam free in the desolate remains of father's kingdom. 

  
_Father..._

Suddenly, Gwyndolin found her body to have been rendered numb, as she emerged at the head of the monster, her arms moving of their own accord. No. Of his accord. He had her. She gasped for air, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the chamber that Aldrich had brought her to. It was the hall before Sister's bedchamber, where the mightiest of Anor Londo's defenders had once stood, the pillars still smashed from the battle that had taken place eons ago.

  
_Thanks to me..._

  
She yearned for an end to the pain. For the sweet release of death. What humans experienced with such ease. But she wasn't human, or hollow. Gwyndolin was a god, regrettably - with not enough strength to fight back against Aldrich's grasp, but too much to be allowed to slip into the eternal slumber easily. It had already been several days. And weeks would likely remain.

  
_Darkmoons... Helene... Brother..._  
Anyone. Anyone to end her pain.

  
But they were all gone. She was all that was left, and the failed Lord of Cinder currently operating her body like a puppet was going to take his time. And he was enjoying it. 

  
Gwyndolin looked down to the arms that were no longer hers, and realised that they were grasping something. Her vision was becoming blurry again, but she could make out a familiar looking scythe, it's blade emanating an all-too familar glow...

  
"NO!" she screamed. "Not her too... please not her too..." 

  
An audible rumble came from somewhere within the sludge worm. It was laughing. It was mocking her.

"Please not her too..."

Her head slammed against the once spotless marble surface that gods and kings had once walked upon, and her head was slowly forced upwards despite her resistance. It was making her look upon father's work, and despair. The two statues, where three had once stood, of father Gwyn and sister Gwynevere, seemed to gaze down upon her, as they always had - her beloved brother and one sense of comfort long expunged from the annals of history. She felt a single salty tear roll down her cheek. Father would naturally be disappointed, but she was no longer concerned with the opinion of the man who had dictated her life - and the author of the world's demise. Gwynevere would be disappointed, which hurt so much more. She was entrusted to protect her family, and she couldn't even do that right. The family she had made, too, was lost. How had she gotten to this point?

  
_Helene... Yorshka... I'm so sorry..._

  
And against Aldrich's control, Gwyndolin let out a prolonged scream.


	2. A Meeting With The Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eons before. Gwyn breaks his daughter's heart.

**Part I**

"Brother..."  
The child was transfixed upon the pages of the book she held. The illustrations of the moon shining like a wondrous mother captured her imagination and refused go release it from it's vice-like grip. It was beautiful. A beacon of light to watch over all of the world's people, benevolent, comforting, reliable. The opposite to the sun.  
"Brother."  
Gwyndolin was snapped out of her trance and brought back to cruel reality by the girl that had been knocking on her door for an inordinate amount of time. Clearly, sister Gwynevere had grown tired of waiting and let herself in.  
"Sister Gwynevere," addressed the child, accordingly.   
"Our lord father has summoned you to his chambers. He wishes to speak to you urgently."  
Gwyndolin groaned. Father seldom required her to be anywhere near him, and the two rarely saw each other - him being consumed by his lordly duties, or perhaps his plans for the world. She didn't know. What she did know was that it was serious enough for Gwyn to have sent his beloved beautiful daughter to bring her in. She felt her hands balling into fists. He could never come himself, could he?   
"Brother. Hurry up."  
Gwyndolin gazed upon her sister, her silky dress flowing and accentuating her brilliance. She once again couldn't help but feel awe, whereas the latter could only regard her coldly. "Your dress is beautiful, sister."  
Gwynevere's eyes narrowed. "Thank you, Brother. Why does this seem to concern you such?"  
Gwyndolin's snakes brought her up to what would be called standing. Her own long gown was a drab, tattered thing. The myriad snakes that formed from her lower half had necessitated her to dress accordingly - but she had hoped that she would at least receive something as comfortable and pretty as her sister's dresses. But, as a "son"...  
"It doesn't matter... please leave, sister. Tell father I'll be with him shortly."  
Wordlessly, Gwynevere turned back and closed the door behind her. Gwyndolin momentarily put her head in her hands, and then proceeded to file away her beloved moon text on the top row of the bookcase. This was it. Father had summoned her - something that was a rarity. She had largely been left to tutors and her books for guidance over these early years, with Lord Gwyn only occasionally imparting his wisdom. It didn't seem to be like this for her siblings. Lost in thought, she only began to faintly feel a sensation on her cheek. One of her snakes was stroking her face.  
Gwyndolin giggled. "Thank you, sweetie," she smiled as she stroked it back before it rejoined it's siblings. She sighed. It was time to go.  
  
The corridors of Anor Londo were long, labyrinthine, and empty. Gwyndolin could never shake the sense of all pervading loneliness that the place emanated, even with the silver knights patrolling, for they would never speak, nor even seem to acknowledge her. She crossed the rooftops, which too were empty, save for those same lifeless knights dotted around the perimeter. It was always so awfully hot with the oppressive sunlight beating down on her - and she spared a moment to wonder if those knights, in their heavy steel armour, were sweltering in pain, if they could even feel, that is.  
She crossed the dias in the great hall, and upon descending the stairs, was met with two familiar figures in conversation. One of which was Ornstein, the legendary dragonslayer, having not removed his brilliant lion helm, which shone magnificently in the sunlight. And the other was much more comforting, as he turned to her, his stature and long silver hair being intimidating to some, but his warm smile and kindly features being exactly what Gwyndolin needed to see.  
He beamed more than the sun ever could. "Gwyndolin! Sister!" he greeted as he came towards her and ruffled her short hair - a traditionally masculine greeting, but one that she didn't mind coming from him.  
"Hello, Sen. It's good to see you, Brother."  
"Likewise."   
Ornstein remained wordless, but bowed as a show of courtesy, as Gwyn's firstborn continued. "So, I hear that the old man wants to speak with you. It must be exciting, for sure?"  
"I suppose..." she managed weakly, "I just want to know what he wants."  
"It must be something important! Your intellect is something I look up to, sister."  
Gwyndolin blushed at this, turning away as she tried to hide it, but evidently not very well.  
"I admire your prowess as a warrior, Sen."  
He lowered his head and was momentarily very grave. "War is war. It's unpleasant business, and nothing admirable. I've killed so many, sister. I mourn for those I have been forced to vanquish. It's not something to take lightly."  
"I'm sorry..." she responded.   
"Don't be. I'll escort you to our lord father. Ornstein, you are dismissed. We may talk again in my bedchamber later, if you like." As directed, Ornstein bowed to the siblings, and vacated his post.  
Sen reverted to his wonderful smile. "Come, sister."  
She always felt her heart flutter whenever he called her that. He was the only one.  
The two didn't need to exchange any more words as they embarked down the golden steps and arrived in Anor Londo's inner sanctum, where none but gods were permitted to walk. They faced a gigantic hallway, knowing what resided on the other side. The heat had only increased, but Gwyndolin felt a shiver down to the bones.  
Sen ruffled her hair again. "This path you must walk alone, sister. I am sorry. But you know how our Lord Father is."  
"I do..." she sighed. Why must Lord Gwyn be like this?  
She turned to her brother one final time before embarking. "Thank you, Sen."  
"No problem. Now go, little sister. We're all counting on you."   
His words were encouraging, but she was still overcome by dread.   
_Be strong. Like your brother._  
She began to walk the hallway.  
  
The hallway was an exhausting trek, but eventually she reached the other side. The tomb of the gods. Lord Gwyn was leaning over the alter, facing the opposite direction.  
"Fa... Father?" trembled Gwyndolin.  
He turned, revealing himself to be in his usual state - always in armour, his beard always wild, his eyes always sunken and empty. "My son. You have arrived."  
Of course she bristled at this, but she tried to maintain her composure. "You sent for me, father. What are your wishes?"  
He faced her down, gaunt and imposing, neither his stoic face or body language betraying any feelings whatsoever. "You have come of age. Now is an important time. You are no longer a child, or even my youngest."  
"Filianore..."  
"Yes, my son. But I have something else planned for her. As for you, it is time to begin your duties. I trust your education was serviceable?"  
"Yes father..." It was true. Her education had been serviceable. She had learned of the war with the dragons, the lord souls, the pygmies, and had been tutored in magic, of which she excelled at. But what she had not been taught she took it upon herself to learn, studying arcane sorceries, as well as different peoples and the state of the world.  
"I have heard that you have a strong affinity for the moon. Is this true?"  
"Ah... uh..."  
"You need not answer, boy. I already know of your heresy. You must stop before it becomes detrimental to my kingdom. This is a warning. I have already issued one to your brother for his sympathies towards the accursed beasts."  
Gwyndolin had not heard of this development. She would have to talk with Sen when the appropriate time presented itself.   
"I also hear that you're continuing your act of... rebellion," Gwyn continued, "I advise you stop that too, boy. For your own good. I will also be having words with Sen for enabling your delusions."  
Incredulous, Gwyndolin spoke up. "I can express myself as I see fit, father. I have no set destiny."  
Gwyn took a few paces towards her, looking down on who he called son. "That is where you are wrong. Everything proceeds according to my design. At least... most..."  
"What...?"  
"It's time that you learned the circumstances of your birth."  
Gwyndolin shivered once again. "A-and... what were they?"  
Gwyn began to explain. "Humans and other species, even gods, often have 'mothers'. I circumvented that, for I am the Lord of Sunlight, and everything will proceed according to my design."  
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No..."  
"Yes. You are all my direct creations, each bred with a specific purpose. My eldest was created and groomed to be my successor. A warrior, and king. Your sister Gwynevere - her beauty that you seem to resent so much was also my design. She was to be the queen and face of the royal family. Filianore... well, you need not concern yourself with Filianore."  
"And what about me, father? Why am I imperfect? Why must I be weak? Why is my body malformed and fused with other creatures? Why, father?"  
He regarded her coldly, and then, informed her in the most matter of fact tone, that "You were my greatest failure."  
She felt tears forming within her eyes, but she had to stay strong. Strong like Sen.  
"You were to be the learned scholar, intelligent and powerful in sorceries in order to keep our world from falling into darkness. Of that we will get to in time, but for this task I needed more than myself for this undertaking. I trusted part of your creation to my ally and friend, Seath the Scaleless."  
_Him_. That mad creature that was performing all sorts of experiments under the direct endorsement of her lord father.   
"I'm part of one of Seath's experiments..."  
"Yes. With my supervision."  
She couldn't believe this. Gwyn would not allow this to happen to his child. Or would he? She didn't even know who her father was anymore.  
"So yes, your frailty and snakish underside are as a result of our... foolish endeavour. I admit that. You are the reminder of my living failure."  
She had no monuments, no statues, no recognition like her siblings. She had been kept shut in, behind locked doors, away from the public. Because she was a stain on her father's image.  
Gwyndolin collapsed to what should have been her knees if it was not for the snakes, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. She was a freak. A failed experiment. A shameful secret and stain upon her great father's name.  
"Do stop crying, boy," was his cold command, to which she tried to obey, looking up at him and wiping her eyes with her arm.   
"F-father..."  
"But now you have come of age, and you may be redeemed yet."  
"How...?"  
"Your skills and mind should still be close to my intended design. They should be incredibly useful, if your education was as adequate as it should have been. You should still posses an immense amount of power and potential."  
She no longer understood what her father was saying. Was he being cruel? Was he being kind? Of this she could not discern. She just didn't want to let him or her family down, as she had before.  
"What... must I do to earn your love, father? How can my failure be redeemed?"  
Gwyn's lips curved into what may have resembled a smile. "You will be instrumental in preserving my age. You will be my dark sun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sen" is the supposed name of the Nameless King by some players, including myself.


	3. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyndolin visits Filianore, and confesses some things. Sen has some bad news.

Gwyndolin pulled back the string until the center met her eyeline, the other arm slightly shaking as it held the device outstretched. The bow was heavy, and stubborn, but as the arrow rested against her cheek, she concentrated on the target before her - a straw man, it's heart painted as the optimal target. She released. The arrow pierced the torso with great force.  
"You are getting better," chimed the giant beside her.   
"How do you know where it hit?"   
"My other senses are elevated, my Lord."  
Gough was a more gentle instructor than she had expected. Of course, his voice was deep and commanding, and his giant's physique was imposing, but he was a patient enough teacher. Probably more so than she deserved.   
Gough gently took the bow from her hands. "I can tell your frail form struggles with the weight of these great weapons," ever the forthright, "I think it befitting that I instruct my brother the blacksmith to custom build you a weapon more suited to you."  
"You would do that?"  
"Of course," he replied. "You are strong in sorceries. You can enhance it to bind it to you, improving your handling of the bow."  
"Thank you, teacher."  
Gough bowed his head. "Today is a nice day, yes?"  
The gardens of Anor Londo were far from their former glory. The lake still glistened in the sunlight, but rot seemed to float beside the lilies. The flowers were mostly blooming, but some of her favourites had withered.   
"Yes. It's a nice day," whispered Gwyndolin.   
"That is good. These old eyes can't bear witness to beauty like they once could. But it is good to know."  
They stood together for a while, wordless. Giants weren't often much for small talk, but they were a good and noble people. They had served her father well, at least.  
"So..." she began, "How is my father?"  
Gough was one of the knights of Gwyn, and so had far more access to him than his children. All Gwyndolin could do was await instructions, but Gough and the others knew the man.  
"He is brooding," was the Giant's blunt response.  
That's helpful.  
They remained there in silence for some more time, before Gwyndolin chose to once again awkwardly break it. "I should... go."  
Gough nodded. "You are dismissed."  
"Well... thank you, Ser," were Gwyndolin's parting words and she slipped off.   
  
On the way back to her quarters, Gwyndolin decided that she would pay her sister a visit. A conversation shouldn't be a problem, she thought. Taking the adjacent corridor to where she resided, she came to a seeming dead end, but placed her hand on the surface to pass through the illusory wall that her lord father had instructed her to conjure for her sister.   
Filianore's chambers were small and modest, similarly to her own, and utterly unlike Lord Gwyn's other two children. However, sat on the small bed was not Gwyn's youngest, but rather Gwynevere, who regarded her sister coldly.   
"She's in the next room," she said flatly and without emotion, "she probably does not care for visitors. Especially not the likes of you, brother."   
Gwyndolin took a deep breath, and attempted to remain as measured as possible given the circumstances. "I am your sister and I'm asking to see our sister, sister."  
Gwynevere seemed to sigh at this. "If you so desire, you may. But I don't see why it's so important to you."  
She was taken aback. "What is happening to you, Gwynevere? Where did my big sister go? The one that I would play dress-up with, and who would listen to my secrets whenever I was troubled?"  
"I suppose she grew up," she muttered as she walked out of the room.  
When the elder was gone, Gwyndolin took a moment to lay down on her younger sister's bed.  
_Why am I like this? Why must I disgust others, so?_ Father seemed to be correct, as always, when he had condemned her as his greatest failure in what must have been many cycles ago, now.  
She considered following Sister Gwynevere, who was so close, yet so far. They hadn't even spent a minute together before she had taken off. Why must she be so cruel? Was Gwyndolin so much of a disappointment that there was no redemption to be found?  
_No. I must pull myself out of this self-centred spiral. I am the Dark Sun. Arm to Lord Gwyn._  
But her resolve was fading. She was useless in comparison to her siblings, to the knights, even to humanity, who possessed greater resolve and purpose than she could hope for.  
_Stop. Just stop, heathen._  
Gwyndolin sat up on her sister's bed and moved to the left adjacent door where her younger sister no doubt resided, and knocked.  
  
No response.  
She rattled her knuckles against the door again, causing her pain after the stress of archery had left her hands clammy and weak. Nothing.   
She returned to sitting on the bed. Her frail body didn't take much to bleed, as the blood running down her right hand stained the sheets. In response, she placed her left hand over the bleeding limb, closing her eyes and focusing her mind on the miracle of healing. Opening her eyes, a golden light emanated from the formerly damaged hand, and she sighed.   
"You are very talented, Brother."  
Gwyndolin's eyes shot back to the door, which was now open, and stood there was Filianore, pale faced and dark haired, her gown regal and godly. Apparently her lord father considered her too to be ugly, but to Gwyndolin, she was beautiful.   
"Sister Filianore..." she whispered.  
Filianore glided towards the bed and sat beside her.  
"How fares thee, Brother?" she asked.  
"I am well," she lied. "I came to ask you the same thing."  
Filianore wiped her sleeve over her face, which appeared to be dry from tears, and sighed.  
"I am well too."  
They both knew that they were lying to each-other. It didn't matter. Filianore rested her head against her sister's shoulder.  
"Father Gwyn says he has plans for me," murmured the former.   
"That makes two of us, although I confess to not fully comprehending his great design," was Gwyndolin's response. "You have been crying, haven't you, Sister?"  
"Yes..." she confessed. "It's all so... sad. So sad and lonely."  
"Likewise."  
Some time passed in which the sisters allowed themselves to become content in each-other's company. The room was so still. There was silence, until Gwyndolin felt a warm tear drop onto her shoulder.  
"Why are you crying?"  
"No reason in particular," responded Filianore.   
Gwyndolin knew this to be a lie. She deeply wanted to ask her sister what Lord Gwyn had planned for her, since it was no doubt the cause of her sorrow, relayed by Gwynevere, judging by her presence earlier. But she didn't ask. She mustn't doubt Father's design...  
"Can we talk about something else?" the younger sister asked.  
Gwyndolin sighed. "Of course."  
"Brother, why do you dress, speak and present yourself the way you do? Why does our older Brother address you not by your given name, and call you Sister?"  
Gwyndolin froze. She had not expected such questions. Oh dear... she was going to have to respond.  
"Well... I didn't know how to tell you. And I... suppose that I hoped you would ask first. So here we are."  
Filianore seemed confused. "I don't follow?"  
Gwyndolin sighed. "I may seem like your brother. Most people here and Father especially will have you believe that. But... what if I told you that I actually really was your sister?"  
Her sister's expression had yet to change.  
"I'm a woman, Filianore."  
The younger sister was taken aback. "But your body does not seem to be that of a woman."  
Gwyndolin gave a wan smile. "Of course it's a woman's body. It's my body. And I'm a woman."  
Filianore, the sweet, naive thing, still didn't seem to fully comprehend.   
"Ok," Gwyndolin continued, "the body I was given, ignoring my lovely girls down below, may not be like yours or Sister Gwynevere's, that's true. But just because I look a certain way on the outside, it doesn't change who I am on the inside. And I'm your sister. I've always known I was a sister."  
"So that is why you present yourself as such...?"  
"Yes."  
Filianore paused, and took a moment to consider. "Do you think there is a way that your outward visage can become more in line with who you are on the inside?"  
Gwyndolin scratched her ear, wondering the same thing herself. "Maybe? I can create illusions with my magic, but I would prefer not to use them on myself. I'm researching into ways to permanently change my body."  
"And how is that going?"  
Once again, Gwyndolin sighed. "Nothing concrete yet, sadly."  
Surprisingly, Filianore put her arms around her sister. "I hope you find a way to live happily, Sister."  
And of course, Gwyndolin could feel the tears again - this time coming from her.  
"Thank you, Filianore..."  
She returned the hug.  
  
Later, as Gwyndolin sat at her desk, reading in her chambers, she recieved a heavy knock at the door. Quickly hiding away her book about the moon under the stack of rapidly piling up dry journals and tomes, she addressed the source, as formally as possible. "Thou art permitted to enter..."  
Skulking in, with terrible posture and a concerningly grave expression, was her brother.  
"Hello, sister," was his greeting, but unusually full of apprehension.   
"Sen? What's wrong?"  
The firstborn took a weary seat upon his sister's bed, and hid his head in his hands.  
"Our Lord Father has had a crown forged for you," he explained, dejected.   
Why was he so grim? This was fantastic news. Lord Gwyn was finally recognising her for the important role she had to play. This couldn't possibly be bad news.  
"I don't quite understand, Brother. Why do you seem so troubled?"  
"Because it's this," was his response, as he produced the object that had been forged for the Dark Sun's head. Taking it, she held it in her hands. It was a golden sun, certainly imbued with fine craftsmanship, seven pointed tips protruding around it, very much akin to a star. She took it before the window, and the sunlight reflected brilliantly off of it, shimmering like her very dark sun.  
She was confused. "This is truly a marvel. Father and the blacksmith have my immense gratitude. Why does this hurt you so, Brother?"  
Sen could barely look at her as he began to explain, muttering with disgust that "Father had it made for a purpose. Not for your benefit, I can tell you that. Look a little closer."  
As she turned it around, she saw. And she knew.  
"Father has had you hidden away from the world for a long time. But now some of your duties necessitate interaction with those not of the family. The king has decreed that when you speak to anyone outside of our immediate circle, you must wear it over your face - for he says that them seeing it would be an embarrassment to him."  
Her momentary joy had turned to ashes. 


	4. Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sen has a gift.

Bustling crowds. Cheering people. Flowers being thrown. Proud siblings.  
Queen Gwyndolin stood on the marble steps before the church, looking over her adoring subjects. She was going to make the world the best place it could possibly be for them. A rose thrown seemed to miss her, but was snapped up and presented to the Queen by one of her kindly snakes, and friends. She briefly turned observe Sen and Filianore standing with her, and turned the other way to see Gwynevere standing beside her, smiling.  
"I'm so proud of you, Sister," she said, her voice kindly and encouraging.   
Coming out of the church was the one Sen had appoined to do the deed. Dragonslayer Ornstein, still in his brilliant armour, asked her to kneel before her subjects, which she was keen to oblige, before placing a crown, a real crown, onto her head. As she rose, now Queen of Lordran, she truly understood what it meant for people to be cheering her. They were proud of her.  
But the crowd wasn't cheering anymore. They were grey. They were hollow. And chief among them, standing tall and distinguished, was Lord Gwyn, simply staring. She knew those eyes, and they hated.  
  
Sweating profusely, Gwyndolin shot out of bed, panting and barely able to stand upright.   
_Water. I need water_. She ran to her desk where the half empty glass still stood, and downed it in one gulp. Lukewarm. _The weather over here never helps_ , she thought as she slammed the glass down in frustration.   
The door swung open, and in ran an especially handsome man with lean, angular features and short cropped, dark hair, wearing only light chain mail in contrast to his usual attire.  
"My lady?! Are you in distress?"   
She pulled the best goofy grin she could, given the circumstances. "Yes, I'm fine. I thought there was a gargoyle at my window. I must have forgotten to put one of them to sleep," she lied.  
"You're very good at animating those statues," acknowledged Ornstein, "one day your power could be so great that you could surpass reality."  
Gwyndolin did her best to giggle. "That would be quite something."  
The two stared at each-other for some time, before she chose to awkwardly break the silence.   
"So... how did you hear me in the first place?"  
Ornstein was rather blunt, "My lord your brother asked me to take a shift outside of your room tonight. To keep an eye on you."  
Of course that was something Sen would do. "That's very thoughtful of him, but neither of you should have bothered," she began whilst throwing herself back into bed, "I'm perfectly fine, and I don't know why he's worried."   
Ornstein wasn't convinced. "You know why he's worried. You're buried in your work and studies, and you're not talking to anyone. He calls you a sullen brooding goddess."  
Gwyndolin laughed, genuinely this time. How affirming.   
"I'm just trying to work hard for Father. I want him to be proud of me. I want them all to be proud of me."  
Ornstein took a seat next to her bed. "What if I was to tell you just how proud your brother already is of you. I've served under your Lord Father for eons. If I may speak freely, he is a great man. But he is also a difficult man. A hard man. One day you will make him proud, but focus on those who are already so proud of you."  
That was surprisingly tender from a man who she usually saw clad in armour and carrying a spear every day. She owed him a little honesty. "I've been having night terrors. They are frequent."   
He nodded sadly. "Sen has them sometimes. He dreams of dragons."  
"Dragons?"  
Ornstein seemed genuinely upset in recounting this. "For eons he's been fighting. So have I, but I guess I find it easier to turn myself off. Your brother may seem indestructible, but he is troubled, my lady. Sometimes... he thrashes in bed. He almost killed me once whilst dreaming."  
"You should be with him, Ornstein."   
Ornstein put his head in his hands. "I know. But I wanted to do this for him. You two poor souls..." was that... tears?  
Gwyndolin got out of bed again, and put her hand on the knight's shoulder. "Shhh... go to your lord, Ser Ornstein," she whispered. "He needs you more than I do."  
His head moved up, his beautiful face now drawn and trembling. It seemed that he was about to say something, but instead he remained quiet. He stayed seated for a while, clearly contemplating what next to do, before he rose and bowed to her.  
"Thank you, Lady Gwyndolin. My Lord needs me."  
Gwyndolin smiled. "Go to him".  
Bowing once again, Ornstein left the room, but frustratingly left the door open, to which she had to push shut; before she slid down with her back against the door, looking upwards to the bare ceiling.  
She considered for a moment. The room lay completely still, but a profound sense of dread permeated through the air, as if Father was silently watching, and judging. It was too much. It was all just too much. _What am I doing here_? She couldn't quite say. Something important, perhaps, but maybe something utterly, utterly useless. It didn't matter right now, as she drifted out of consciousness.  
  
Back in the same gardens, but with no Gough. He must have been busy. Gwyndolin paced before the straw men that were predominately used for archery, but she had something else in mind. She outstretched her arms before her, palms open, and focused. A blue hue of energy began to intermingle with her hands, as she cleared her mind and imagined only the spell she sought to cast. The force of the exertion of energy pushed her onto her backside. She laughed involuntarily at her blunder, to the which a couple of her snakes, who had wrapped themselves around her arm, coiled to avoid the damp grass, didn't seem to be impressed by, judging by their eyes and the rolling of them. They had taken off of her, it seemed. She laughed and stroked them lovingly, to which they desisted, and brought herself back to her non-existent feet.  
The sorcery had worked, though. The chest of the straw man now had a fairly sizable hole that had been ripped through it. Satisfied, Gwyndolin moved to her next area of practice, in which she raised her left hand and once again focused. It was imperative that she remained positive, so she thought about a good time that she had had as a child playing dress-up with Gwynevere. Golden light emanated from her hand, and the target's wound began to be sealed, straw weaving across the hole to repair what had been damaged. Intrusively, she was suddenly back with Gwynevere in Filianore's room. Her hand hurt. The straw man's upper half fell after it had been horizontally bisected.   
Useless.   
"Hello Sister!" Gwyndolin jumped, and turned, and sighed.   
"Sen, you know I don't like it when people sneak up on me."  
"Sorry about that."   
Her brother seemed especially radient today in the sunlight, and in exceptionally high spirits.  
"You seem pleased, Brother."   
Sen smiled. "I am. There is plenty I have to share with you."  
Gwyndolin applied a certain level of apprehension whenever her brother had something to "share". Sometimes it was a practical joke, or a boring story of Ornstein and Artorias measuring their weapons. Regardless, she was more than happy to spend time with him.  
"So," she began, "what do you have for me this time, Brother? More exploits with Ornstein? Or is Father being a fool?"  
He laughed out loud. "Haha. Yes, absolutely. But I have something very specifically for you."  
Eyebrows were raised, but Gwyndolin gave a half smile. "Oh? What is it this time?" was her sardonic response.  
The firstborn was incredulous. "No, no! This time it's legitimate! It's in my chambers; that's why I came to get you."  
"Sure thing, Brother," she teased, "I definitely believe you."  
Sen grinned. "You won't be disappointed, Sister. I promise you."  
"If you insist..."   
And with that, the siblings set off.  
  
Sen's chambers were certainly more spacious and well decorated than Gwyndolin's or her younger sister's. That made sense - he was Lord Gwyn's heir, after all. Only the best was worthy of him.  
She observed the map of Lordran on her brother's desk. "This will all be yours one day," she murmured, running her fingers over the parchment. "The people love you. They will take well to your rule."  
Sen blushed. "Well... I'm alright, I suppose," he stammered modestly. "I have... plans. Plans to make life better for everyone. But I do not envy Father's struggle against the abyss."  
"I suppose. We do need to deal with that, especially after Kaathe went rogue."  
"That accursed Darkstalker..." muttered Sen.   
"I know. Father taught us the horrors of the dark."  
Sen's eyes suddenly got much wider, as if remembering something. "That reminds me. Hawkeye Gough, your archery instructor, won't be around for a while. He's going with Artorias and Ciaran to the kingdom of Oolacile. It's said to have been taken by the dark, and Father is serious about sterilizing the site."  
_Sterilizing the site_. Gwyndolin once again experienced those sadly all-familiar paradoxical shivers in the heat.  
Sen seemed to sense the discomfort that had begun to take over, and so chose to wisely change the subject. "Would you like to see why I brought you here?"  
Gwyndolin was still apprehensive, but saw no harm in hopefully moving to a more pleasant subject matter. "Of course, Brother."  
Wordlessly, Sen rummaged around in his draws, until he seemed to find what he was looking for. Pulling his arm back out, he produced... a ring? A golden ring, engraved with swirling patterns, with large ends seemingly, fittingly, shaped like snakeheads rubbling against each other from where they were coiled. It was without a doubt a pretty ring.  
"This is for me?" she asked.  
"Yes, it is," he replied, handing it to her. "Try it on!"  
Enchanted rings were useful to humans, she knew, but with Sen he would often use them for practical jokes. He was once disciplined heavily by Father for gifting him a ring that made him temporarily look like a hollow. She had laughed with Gwynevere all day over it. She missed smiling with her older sister.   
"Ok, then..." she began, sliding it onto her left ring finger, waiting for her hair to change colour or some equal triviality. "I don't feel much different."  
Sen grinned. "You will."  
"Explain yourself, Brother."  
He was clearly excited, because his smile had yet to dissipate.   
"I cannot begin to imagine how you must have felt for so long, being my Sister and yet having to be a brother."  
Gwyndolin frowned, muttering that "it's all so unfair."  
"Exactly! It is! You will always be my sister, no matter what; but I know that you wish you go further."  
"I truly do. We live in a world rich with sorceries and miracles, yet no-one seems to have created nor invested in something like... I don't know... perhaps an enchanted coffin that ones like me - there must be more - can rest in and metamorphise into their preferred form. That would be true magic."  
"Unfortunately, I know not of anything that convenient," her brother replied, "but I have just granted you the Reversal Ring."  
"The Reversal... Ring?"  
Her brother could barely contain his excitement. "It will increase in effectiveness in time, since until such a coffin as you describe exists, this is the best we have."  
Gwyndolin was suddenly excited. Euphoric, if you will. "You mean... it...?"  
"Yes! Keep applying it to yourself and it will gradually halt your... unwanted development, and push forward something more befitting of you. Something that you say you would prefer."  
There were no words. Her mouth was open, but Gwyndolin was unable to form a cogent response.  
"Gwyndolin, are you ok?" he asked, beginning to express concern.  
Suddenly she threw her arms around her big brother, and held him as tightly as she could. "I love you, Brother. I love you, I love you, I love you. Thank you so much for all you do for me."  
"Haha. Don't give me too much credit. I'm just doing what I can for my little sister and... oh..."   
A few snakes had nestled against his shoulder in a display of affection, clearly influenced by the feelings of their host.  
"Very cute," he smiled. "I'm always so proud of you, Sister."  
After they (along with the snakes) disengaged, Gwyndolin decided to change the subject, since they had been thinking about her so much. Sen had interesting things going on in his life, too. Surely.   
She eyed a book open on his bed. "What's this?" she inquired as she strolled over before he could stop her. Then she saw the illustrations.   
_Ah_.  
"I can explain..." began the Firstborn.   
Drakes. Wyverns. Everlasting Dragons. Lord Gwyn's mortal enemies.  
"Sen... you know what this entails...?"  
"Y-yes..." he responded weakly, trying to keep his composure. "I found it on my travels."  
"Why are you reading this?"  
Sen sighed. "I do not approve of Father's war against the dragons. Of course I love him and serve him, but I won't let him commit genocide. I have taken an interest in the creatures and their culture because I hope to... find a better way once it's my time."  
Gwyndolin understood his reasoning. Their father's hatred would only beget more ruin. Yet...  
"If he finds out that you have even slight sympathies towards the Dragons..."  
"I know. I know, Sister." He seemed resigned to whatever was coming. "You may as well report me. You could do with an improvement in his esteem."  
"Brother, you know that I won't do that. I would never do that. But you have to keep your mouth shut around him. If he even suspects..."  
"... then I'm done for."  
Gwyndolin didn't know what to do. She was lost again. Now torn between her Brother and best friend, and loyalty to her Lord Father.  
_No. Don't even think about it._  
"I will never compromise you, Brother. But you have to promise me you'll stay safe."  
He hesitated before making the promise. "I swear."  
They embraced again.


	5. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyndolin struggles to understand her dreams. She visits the demon

_I see it. The moon is close_.   
She lay in an endless lake, located in a dark void, as the pall of light seemed to be spreading, from the centre of everything. Raising her hand, she could almost touch the moon in it's full magnificence.  
So close, yet so far. She was sinking.  
  
"Brother, I have been experiencing these dreams for quite a while."  
The siblings stood before the giant painting that led into a whole different world. A world that Gwyndolin was not permitted entry into.  
Sen stroked his chin inquisitively. "Your attraction to the moon seems to underlay a lot of who are, Sister."   
"I know..."  
"You do know that your affinity for the moon, a symbol primarily associated with femininity, might have some influence on the woman you are today?"  
She groaned. "It's crossed my mind, Sen, but the moon didn't make me insecure about my body. Symbolism is good to think about in books and architecture. Not so much for real people like us."  
"Sorry," was his apologetic response.  
She sighed. "Why is my fascination so intense...? It doesn't make sense. I am an heir to the Sun, like you."  
Sen seemed utterly clueless, and couldn't answer. Her brother was a great man, but esoteric topics like dreams were not his strong suit. Silence from both of them. What was she going to do?  
"Do you know anyone or anything that can help me search for answers about myself?"  
He seemed to consider for a while, before cautiously suggesting "the archives. You might find answers in the archives."  
Her heart sank. The Duke's Archives were somewhere she had sworn she would never revisit, not since she learned the truth about _him_.   
"I... can't," she said weakly.  
"That's my only suggestion. I'm so sorry."  
Sighing, she murmured "don't be," and resigned herself to what she had to do. "It's the only way, right?"  
"Maybe. If you want to know why you have these dreams."  
"Damn this all..." was all she could manage.  
"I know, Sister. I know."  
So this was what she had to do.  
  
Cautiously traversing the halls of the entrance to the Duke's Archives, Gwyndolin knew that she had to be prepared, drawing the custom golden bow that had been slung over her back, getting ready to conjure magic arrows in the case that the Duke was in one of his especially depraved moods. Entering the archives, she was accosted by two armed guards. What a sorry state they were in. Their withered, blue bodies were horribly mutated, with crystals seemingly growing out their gaping wounds.  
She addressed them cordially. "I am the Dark Sun, child of Lord Gwyn and I ask that you let me pass."  
The guards just looked at each-other, and then undressed her with their eyes, looking her up and down. It was disgusting. And then one croaked "Child of Lord Gwyn? You look more like an escaped experiment..."  
"Curse you!" she growled, conjuring a soul arrow and preparing to fire.  
"I don't think that will be necessary," came an ethereal, yet familiarly sinister voice. "Let the young lord through."  
The guards bowed, and parted. But upon entering the great library, the source of the voice was nowhere to be found.  
So much forbidden knowledge housed in these vast bookcases. Just what did Seath know that Lord Gwyn was keeping locked away from others?  
She knew that one of the shelves must have had more books regarding the moon, and it's relationship to Gods and Men, so she began to peruse the shelves to uncover the knowledge that she sought.  
Some time was spent searching alphabetically, wheeling the ladder across the archives and climbing it with difficulty due to her unusual method of mobility. The snakes could only wrap around the steps and hold on for dear life as Gwyndolin finally found what seemed to be the volume that she was looking for. It wasn't. It was a copy of what she had in her own study. Frustrated, she could only slide down the ladder with her arms after instructing the snakes to disengage.   
Nothing. This had been such a pointless endeavour.   
As Gwyndolin put her head against the bookcase in despair, she suddenly felt an ice cold breath on the lower back of her neck, causing her to quickly turn. Nothing that could be seen, but she could still hear the low breathing, still feel it.  
This must have been due to too many sleepless nights, she thought as she rubbed her face with her right hand. Afterwards, the first thing that she saw was it.  
It was a reptile, pale blue, sporting further blue hair down across it's smooth tails. Scaleless. It covered it's face with a silver mask, silver hair flowing and floating as if underwater. From it's back had sprouted wings like a butterfly's, the blue and green fading to a deep purple on the outer layers. It was humanoid, thin, with a visible ribcage exposing this form's bones. It was him. But not as she remembered.   
"I always wondered when my creation would return to me," emanated that ethereal, celestial voice from behind the mask.  
"You're communicating using another form through astral projection. I would just call it an illusion, Seath. I'm fairly good at them myself."  
The creature evaporated before her, before she felt a scaleless hand running down her shoulder, causing her to lash out behind her with her weak fists. But there was nothing there.  
"Come to me, my boy..." echoed that same voice, only further building up her rage.  
"Where are you, monster?" she asked in what should have been a controlled, calm manner, but betrayed by the last word.   
"Where I have always been. Down below..."  
Of course...  
  
As she descended the hidden passageway behind one of Seath's own illusory walls into the caves, Gwyndolin first passed through what appeared to be a dungeon with the walls made of crystal. There was no-one in immediate sight, but she could hear a faint sobbing coming from one of the cells. She peered in past that bars on the door, and in this crystal cell sat a monstrous mutation of a woman. Her skin was rotting like a hollow's, and she covered her face with her bony arms. Those same wings that she had seen on the projection of Seath were growing out of her back.   
Gwyndolin had long known of Seath's predilection for kidnapping and experimenting on young women to further his research into immortality. It was pitiable. And how could her Lord Father allow such blasphemous practices?   
She focused her energy on the lock, twisting her hand until a burst of magic blew it off, and the door swung open. The woman still covered her face, barely aware that she had been freed. As such, Gwyndolin slithered into the cell, and lightly placed her hands over the woman's to comfort her.   
_What_...?  
It was weak, but she could feel the faint glimmer of it's energy radiating from the woman. However weak, this was the energy that she felt in her dreams.  
"Come on, my gentle lady... I'm getting you out of here," she whispered. The woman did not respond, or even look up. She just continued to sob. "Please come with me. I can help you." Nothing.  
"Oh, I wouldn't bother with this one," came Seath's voice as Gwyndolin shot around to find his projection leaning in the doorway, clearly smug and amused.   
"By the Abyss, what have you done?" she asked, moving towards the creature.  
"I made a bit of a mess of things, obviously. But I'm making progress."  
"You call this 'progress'?!"  
Seath was unfazed by this. "The unworthy have to be discarded if progress is to be made. That's why I gave you back to Gwyn, after all. You were of no use to me."  
Gwyndolin forced herself to look away from Seath before she attempted to kill him, and returned to the lady. She quickly attempted to perform a healing miracle, but...  
"You'll find that this one cannot be repaired. She is quite beyond your reach now," he mocked.  
She could feel the tears again, as she held the woman. "It's going to be ok..." she whispered. "It's going to be ok..."  
As she would often hide below her gown, just in case of emergencies, she pulled it out, and continued to hold the unresponsive lady in her embrace.  
"It's time to sleep..." Gwyndolin murmured as she slid the knife between the lady's shoulder blades, as smoothly and painlessly as she could. She seemed so peaceful as she went into the endless night.   
Seath had to add his commentary to the moment, ever smug. "Oh dear. What a pity. She might have still made a spare butterfly."  
She clenched her teeth so hard she felt that her jaw would shatter, before letting go of the lady, allowing her to rest, and turning to confront Seath. He was gone.  
She did her best to wipe away the tears before taking one last look at the creature's victim, and proceeding to descend further into the depths.  
  
Gwyndolin emerged out of the dark passageway into a vast chamber of crystal, with no roof to speak of - only the night sky; which was odd, since she was sure that she had descended further underground.   
But more prescient was the giant, slimy behemoth of a true form belonging to the monster that had been granted these archives. Seath seemed to be unresponsive to her entrance, his head and tails slumped in what seemed to be a deep sleep. She knew why, as she was greeted by the deceptive projection.   
"I trust you are learning to project yourself so?"  
"I'm working on it," she muttered, still clenching her teeth.  
"Good... anything that a son can do to impress his father, I suppose?"   
She swung her bloodied knife at the projection, to which it evaporated, followed by a low growl coming from nearby...  
Gwyndolin turned to the stirring true form of Seath the Scaleless, as it awakened and let out an amused yawn to the skies.   
"If you kill me..." it began, in a series of disjointed crackles, "well... Lord Gwyn looks upon me more favourably than his disappointments..."  
The dragon put it's head down again, and returned to being motionless, as the illusion walked towards her, slowly clapping.  
"I see that your aggression isn't something you could purge. It's inherent in males, wouldn't you say?"  
Gwyndolin was using all of her strength in an effort not to dignify this with a response.  
"But let's not dally any longer, shall we?" Seath continued. "What answers do you seek, my little prince?"  
Gwyndolin's free hand closed around the blade of the knife, before it began to hurt - followed by blood. She put it away.  
"I... have been dreaming. And wondering. Wondering so much."  
"Oh?" he inquired, raising his eyes. "And what have you been dreaming and wondering so much about?"  
She chose to ignore the mocking fashion in which this was delivered, and spoke plainly. "The moon. Why am I drawn to it? I surmised that it would likely have something to do with you, seeing as you helped to 'create' me, or however you want to put it."  
"Ah..." he seemed pleased by this. "Isn't the moon fascinating? I must confess that I have been trying to unlock it's secrets and harness it's power for many cycles now."  
Oh no... did that mean...?  
"And... how is it going for you...?" she breathed, in horror.  
Seath cocked his head, and grinned. "Not well. The butterflies are a constant failure, and it seems that whenever I imbue the moonlight into weapons, it is weak."  
"So the moonlight is weak...?"  
Seath gave an unsettling laugh. "Yes. Rather fitting that you're drawn to it, then."  
"Die, monster!" Gwyndolin screamed as she once again pulled out her knife and stabbed at the nothingness, as the projection of Seath repositioned to her side, and pushed her to the ground with a powerful force of energy.  
But then he did what she didn't think possible by a mere projection. He placed his cold, slimy scaleless hand under her chin, sending genuine shivers through her body, and forced her head up to look into those cold, unfeeling slits. "Weak," he re-iterated before vanishing once again - but his voice reverberated throughout the chamber.  
"But to demonstrate the moon's weakness, I'll put you up against another living failure."  
She heard heavy footsteps and steel being dragged across the ground, causing her to turn in alarm. It was a sorry thing. A blue humanoid, crystals growing out of his body, naked besides the chains around him, and his face was obscured by a mask, to which crystals had ravaged the left side. He dragged a greatsword across the ground. It occasionally and momentarily sparked green, but it seemed like the moonlight infused into it was too weak to sustain any power.  
"You want me to... fight them?"  
"Yes..." echoed the sinister voice. "It's appropriate since you killed a perfectly good test subject and made two attempts on my life, don't you think?"  
"I am an heir to-"  
"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "You're the spare one. Your Lord Father values my services over yours. I contribute to his vision more than you could dream of. Yes... you won't be missed if you fall, and he won't care."  
The husk continued to shamble towards her, dragging the greatsword, leaving her frozen in fear.  
_I'm going to die here_...  
But as it came closer, she made the decision to draw her bow and pour her energy into a blue Soul Arrow. It hurt.  
"Last chance!" she shouted, but it continued it's path.  
She let the arrow go.  
It pierced and lodged itself the shoulder of the poor subject, and it began leaking blood, sanguine pouring down it's body. But it kept moving. It was here. And frozen in terror, she couldn't move before it swung with great exertion the greatsword, knocking her golden bow out of her hands and causing her to fall to the ground with a thud.  
It raised the greatsword above it's head to bring down the killing blow, to the which she was sure she saw the moonlight momentarily reflect from the blade.  
She felt something strange.  
The snakes sprang her upright as she used both hands to grip the blade as it came crashing down. The pain was unbearable, and her clenched fists around the blade were seeping with blood, but she swore she could see the moonlight as she pushed it down over the husk's throat, cutting it messily and leaving it writhing in a pool of it's lifeblood, the sword over it's neck.  
Gwyndolin took a step back, horrified. She brought her hands to her face, shocked at her feat and her propensity for violence.  
"I... knew it... a killer..." came the distorted cackle of the true body of Seath, which upon turning, was now very much awake.  
"I should kill you for this..." she whispered, once again looking at her shaking hands.  
"You are welcome... to try... Gwyn... would not be pleased though."  
_Father_...  
"How could I do what I just did?" she asked.  
"Maybe... the moonlight... resonates..."  
She briefly turned back to look upon the greatsword atop the corpse. It was an ordinary blade, splattered with blood. It did not glow.  
Seath seemed to be laughing, if the guttural cackles could count as such.  
She ignored this, and tried to pick up the sword. She could barely hold it, it's great weight being too much for her body.  
She turned back to Seath. "I'm keeping this. I want to study it. I will drag it if I have to."  
Seath seemed to sigh. "If... you wish... no use... to me..."  
"Good," she muttered, before giving her formal closure to who her father regarded as a family friend. "This was profoundly unpleasant. I despise you, Seath the Scaleless, and I do not wish to interact with you again. May we both die before you discover immortality."  
"Likewise... boy..."  
Jaw clenched.   
"Ha... ha... ha... you will not... be a daughter..."  
She could swear once again that her teeth would shatter.  
"Tell me... how is my daughter...?"  
_What_?  
"Excuse me?" she responded, aghast.   
"Oh..." Seath seemed amused, and threw up his head to let out a croak that she could only assume was laughter. "They never told you... That is... funny..."  
"The painted world... that's why I'm not allowed in?"  
"It is... funny... I am... sure... that your niece would... love to... meet you."  
_Niece_...  
No. NO.  
  
The curious greatsword had been left with the Giant Blacksmith for safekeeping as Gwyndolin stormed through the halls of Anor Londo, aggressively slithering through the corridors, past the silent sentries, until she made it to his door.  
"Sen!" she shouted. "Open up, Sen!"  
Nothing.   
She wasn't in the mood for waiting. She focused her energy on the lock on the door, and with a snap of her fingers, broke the lock.   
"Sen, I'm coming in!" she yelled as she swung the door open to find her brother sitting on his bed, dejectedly, tears streaming down his face. Ornstein had an arm over his shoulder for support.  
"This really isn't the time, Lady Gwyndolin," said Ornstein softly.   
"Really? When was the cursed time for me to find out? Our neice? There was a child?!"  
Sen looked up, his face red from crying. "Gwyndolin... I..."  
"You knew, didn't you Brother?! And you never told me."  
"I..." began Sen.  
"Enough. She's hidden away in the Painted World, isn't she?"  
He was shaking, but could eventually manage "Yes..."  
But that was only the first question.  
"Did Lord Gwyn order you to keep it quiet?"  
"Yes..."  
The third, and most important.  
"Which one of our sisters did that disgusting creature... well...? I can't even..."  
Sen mouthed a response, but no words were formed, and so Ornstein stepped in, sighing.   
"It was Lady Gwynevere. She gave birth to a crossbreed. Her name is Priscilla."   
Gwyndolin collapsed into the chair at Sen's desk, and buried her head in her hands. Her sister had been involved with...  
She wanted to be sick. Was it yet another one of his 'experiments'? She couldn't believe this...  
"Sister..." came Sen's voice, and the two looked towards each-other.  
"What?" she demanded.  
"You haven't heard...?"  
"No, you didn't tell me!"  
Sen sighed, and rubbed the tears from his eyes. "No. There was something else..."  
"What? What could be more pressing than this news?!"  
Sen began to sob again.  
"It's about Filianore..."  
Scream.


	6. The Hooded Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a day of worship. The gods are busy. A woman arrives.

It was a busy day today. The crowds were out in full force, swarming the marketplace, their sheer volume of noise making any dialogue that may have been happening inaudible. She knew that she should have just kept to the alleyways.   
The hooded woman made her way through the golden streets, skillfully weaving between the mass of people when even the slightest opening presented itself.   
Upon reaching the central plaza, she was afforded a little more room, however slightly the crowd had dispersed. Leading out of the grand cathedral was an extensive line of citizens that she knew there would be no use trying to sneak further into.  
Exasperated, the woman took her place at the back of the line, and prepared for the long and tedious wait.  
  
Sen sighed whilst donning his impressive, golden armour. "I do loathe these days, Sister! So many people to hold counsel with... It is truly exhausting."  
"Well, at least people want to see you," muttered Gwyndolin, tapping her fingers impatiently on her Brother's desk.   
"I know you feel this way, Gwyndolin. Just trust me, too much attention is not a good thing."  
Gwyndolin knew that. But Gwyn deliberately making her obscure was not appreciated. On a "Day of Worship", there was always a huge turnout of people who would wait at the central church for a chance to enter the home of the Gods, to seek an audience with them. The process was heavily regulated, and only the "worthy" and important were usually granted entry.   
"I suppose you're right. I don't really like attention."  
Of course, many came from far and wide to worship the God of War, as well as their beautiful sister.   
"I'm lined up with a long list of accomplished warriors and generals to slog through this month. And we all know the types to visit Gwynevere. Again, trust me - it's such a pain to talk to all of these people."  
Gwyndolin threw her head onto the desk. "I just want some people, no matter how few, to love me, Sen!" she moaned.   
Her brother placed a warm hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "I love you, Sister. I promise you: one day people will see you for the wonderful person you are."  
  
The line slowly thinned over time, as the woman stood in it, gradually advancing closer to the alter.   
She suddenly felt a shove, as several well-dressed official looking types push ahead of her in the line. She knew she wouldn't do anything to stop them. She knew she _couldn't_ do anything to stop them, even if she had the will for it.  
She sighed as she observed the men pushing through others, and knew that this was was just how it was. The world was a cruel place, and wouldn't be changing anytime soon.  
Her cloak recieved a tug, to the which she turned. It was a tiny little girl, with the most adorable brown eyes, smiling up at her.   
"You're tall, lady!" she exclaimed.  
She gave the warmest smile that she could manage. "Yes, I suppose I am! Don't worry, lovely - I'm not scary!" she said as she shook the hand the girl had offered.  
The child continued to smile. "Are you here to see the Goddess?" she asked innocently. "She's my favourite! So beautiful!"   
Her attempt at smiling was beginning to waver. "Y-yes... the Goddess! I came a long way to see her."  
"She must be very important to you."  
"She is..."   
Suddenly the child was grabbed by two figures: a man and a woman, who regarded her with antipathy.   
"You stay away from our child!" snarled the woman. "We don't want your ilk corrupting her."  
"Mother, no! She's nice!" shouted the child as her parents carried her away.  
This was hardly surprising. She could only further pull her hood down in shame.  
  
She decided to pay a friend a visit.  
The Giant Blacksmith had no name, for he never chose one. Gwyndolin didn't quite understand why, but would be respectful.  
"Hello, friend," she addressed the lumbering heap of kindness.  
"Lady Gwyndolin! To what do I owe this visit?" He was a good soul.  
"I came to check up on the moonlight blade. Have we gotten any further reactions from it?"  
"Unfortunately not. It's just stubborn metal, like any other blade."  
"Damn," she cursed. "Just keep an eye on it, ok?"  
"Yes, my lady."  
Gwyndolin paced up and down the smithy. The room and it's connecting staircase was too small for a giant of the smith's talents.  
"I could always get you a better workstation," she suggested.  
"This is adequate, my lady. I serve Lord Gwyn with what I have."  
Should have seen that one coming. Again.  
After some uncomfortable silence, she muttered "I miss my sister."  
"Aye," the giant responded. "She was kind. Never judged or mistreated me or Gough. She was a lot like you, really. She will be missed."  
"Do you think sending her to the Pygmies was a good idea?"  
The giant began to hammer on his metal, clearly trying to distract himself from the question. "Lord Gwyn is wise. I'm sure it will be worth it."  
Poor thing. Whoever that was. All of them, she supposed.  
"All for the dream..." she muttered.  
  
The woman had finally reached the alter, and the court sorcerer faced her with his hood draped over his withered face, two guards clad in silver armour to each side.  
"I am the sorcerer that will transport you if you are worthy of audience with the gods," he croaked.  
Evidently. She had already heard of this process. She let him continue.   
"What is your business here?"  
She did not hesitate. "I seek audience with the Goddess."  
The old man shambled towards her, and ran a slimy hand over her face. She remained frozen in place as this creature inspected her.   
"A damaged one, eh? Unpleasant to behold."   
_Charming_.  
"The Goddess will not tolerate such visitors. Her beauty may be tainted by the presence of your disfigurement."  
Frustrated, she spoke up, but attempted to level her tone. "I'm not here to see Gwynevere. I'm here for the other princess."  
The sorcerer scoffed and turned his back, hissing "you missed her. She has dispatched elsewhere, and may not be back for a long time."  
Now her tone broke. "The other princess. You know of whom I speak."  
  
Gwyndolin knew not why she had been sent down the long hallway to wait at the tomb of the gods. Nor why she had been asked to wear the crown over her eyes. It was a cold, uncomfortable thing that's vice-like grip made it feel fused to her face. At least she was allowed to sit on a chair. The snakes were tired, and a few had even curled up to her face, or at least what they could touch.  
Onstein, of all people, had come running to her and the blacksmith, eager to tell Gwyndolin that she was needed down below. At least he had interrupted and put a premature end to what was shaping up to be a very awkward conversation.   
Footsteps.   
She squinted to witness a figure, garbed in rags and a hood, slowly advancing down the corridor.   
_A visitor. How curious_.  
Was this her first visitor from the outside world? Had her wish been answered?  
As the figure reached the tomb, they bowed, maintaining a respectable distance. The hood made it difficult to discern any features that the figure may have had, but then she spoke.  
"My lady. Uh... your grace? Majesty? Forgive me, I am a simple woman; I know not how to address the gods."  
This was completely permissible, since Gwyndolin was still reeling from actually receiving a visitor.  
"It... it is ok. Call me what you will."  
"Oh... thank you, my lady..." she stammered through her words. "You are the Dark Sun Gwyndolin, daughter to the Lord of Sunlight, Gwyn?" Surprisingly, her voice had a maturity when her sentences were coherent, her pitch deep and arresting.  
But more so, she was surprised that she was been addressed as a woman by this complete stranger. She rubbed her ring instinctively.   
"That is me, yes. And who may you me?"  
"I am no-one, my lady." She fell to her knees. "Just a worshipper."  
Gwyndolin was shocked, but her modesty kicked in. "You need not kneel."  
"As you wish, my lady," she responded, once again standing.  
What was happening? Worship?   
"Why worship me? This is unheard of."  
"Not necessarily. There are some. Some who know of you and admire you greatly, my lady."  
My lady...  
Had Sen been editing the records against Father's wishes?  
"Who are you, really?" she asked.  
The woman repeated "As I said before, I am no-one."  
She slowly pulled back her hood. What Gwyndolin saw was not what she had expected.   
The woman was hairless, aside from a few light patches where hair may have once been, but now clearly gone. Her left eye was milky white, with no pupil to speak of, a scar running through it, from forehead to mouth. But her other eye... it was emerald, clear, profound. Around the right side of her face were other scars, however; not as deep or long as the previous, but one stretching diagonally from her eyebrow to nose, another across her cheek to just under her mouth.  
"Apologies, my lady. Do I frighten?" she continued to stammer.  
Gwyndolin slowly removed her crown and placed it on the ground, revealing her own frowned-upon form.   
"I came from far away..." the woman continued. "I have nothing. People are afrai-"  
"You need not explain anything," Gwyndolin interrupted, reassuringly.  
"I had only the gods... but I knew only one would understand..."  
Her brother must have had quite some influence if she was being visited by someone specifically seeking her out...  
"You are very beautiful, Lady Gwyndolin. I wish to worship you."  
She left her seat and glided over to the woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I am not. And I am not worth worshipping," she whispered.   
"I will worship regardless."  
"Please... I do not wish for worship. I am a lowly god."  
The woman took a step closer, and leaned in, her emerald eye glistening. "Then I have nothing to offer but my sword."  
  
Gwyndolin knew not of any knight that would travel across realms just to serve her. It was unheard of. Warriors were of much greater use to Sen, and Gwyn; but the knightess had insisted on serving her. Apparently the only reason her Lord Father's sorcerer had granted the woman entry was due to utter surprise and obvious lack of visitors for Gwyndolin, so according to him, "worthiness" was not something that needed to be taken into account.   
Gwyndolin felt sick just imagining the way that people may have been talking about the poor woman.   
Interrupting this thought process was a knock at her door.  
"Come in," she said.  
The door slowly opened, and in stepped in the knightess, clad in light, leather armour, a simple broadsword sheathed to her side.   
"Surely my first knight is owed something a little grander?" Gwyndolin asked.  
"I care not," she responded, "for as long as I serve."  
"Take a seat," offered Gwyndolin.  
"It's fine, my lady. I can stand."  
"I order you to make yourself comfortable."  
The knight laughed at this, and pulled up a chair beside Gwyndolin's.  
"Did you think about names any further?" asked the latter. The knight had insisted that she was no-one, and as such did not need a name, but they had both come to agree that being able to address each-other on a mutual named basis was useful.  
"I've been thinking... Tess, maybe? Like, it's a play on words. Knightess. I prefer to be referred to as just a knight, so "Tess" is a funny name to have in this regards."  
"That actually is fairly creative," admitted Gwyndolin. "It's a nice name, regardless.  
"The other..." she continued, "is Helene. I don't know why. But I was patrolling, and I happened upon the Giant Blacksmith working. We spoke for some time. He's kind. He didn't judge my appearence. But anyway, there the idea just... came into my head. Helene. Funny how things happen, right?"  
Gwyndolin considered for a moment, before whispering "I love it."  
Helene grinned. "Then it's settled!"


	7. The Painted World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyndolin works on a project, and then has to travel to dangerous lands.

Gwyndolin and the Giant Blacksmith were in the process of collaborating to create something special in the smithy. Gwyndolin had presented the smith with sketches that she had made of the intended outcome, and he had happily obliged.  
"Pass me those chunks of bronze, would you, my Lady?"   
Gwyndolin obliged, rummaging in the crate in the corner for bronze chunks, and stacking her arms with seven or eight of them. It was heavy business, and she struggled to stay upright as the snakes carried her back to the blacksmith.   
"You didn't have to carry so many at once," he mused.  
"I wanted to," was her matter of fact response. It wasn't untrue, either. This project greatly excited her.  
"Ok, then. Drop them in there," he pointed to the smelting pot besides him, to which she released the load with a deep relieved breath.   
"Thank you for the assistance, my Lady. I will consult your design further."  
"You know I want a more hands-on role. This is important to me," she protested.  
"I may have work for you later, my Lady, but you best be off. With all due respect, this is professional's work."  
She sighed. He was right after all. Her hands were delicate and ill-suited to exertions of such strenuous labour.  
"Thank you for all you do, friend," she addressed the blacksmith before ascending the steps built into and around the smithy.   
_Why am I so useless...?_  
She took her exit from the steps onto the terrace above the central hall of Anor Londo. Crossing the dias, she was sure she had caught a glimpse of Gwynevere moving below, but as soon as she did, she was gone.  
The two had been purposefully avoiding each-other since the incident with Seath. They did not want to speak of it, but it could not be avoided. Unfortunately, with what was being asked of her today, she would have to dredge up the incident.  
She entered the adjacent corridor, and knocked on Helene's door.  
"Just a moment!" came her voice.   
She was rather taking a liking to her unusual new knight. She was always eager to impress Gwyndolin, and whilst her willingness to do such made her somewhat nervous, it was also somewhat charming, in her own strange way.  
"Ok, come in!"  
Gwyndolin opened the door, and found Helene, still in her leather armour, but now with the addition of her cloak and hood having returned.   
She turned, and quickly curtsied. "My Lady!"  
Gwyndolin sighed. "Why are you covering your face, even in private?"  
"I'm sorry, my Lady. It's just... the knights stare. They all stare. It's humiliating, and distressing."  
Gwyndolin could relate to this, especially with whatever unhealthy notions the others had been given of knighthood by her father. And womanhood.  
"Well, you don't have to hide it from me."  
"I should get hold of a helmet at some point," was the response, defecting.  
_Oh_. It seemed like a slight addition was in order, after all.  
"I'd like you to accompany me on my journey today."  
Her eye lit up. She was so very expressive despite her outward appearance. "Oh, to where?"  
This was going to be difficult to explain.  
"We have been tasked via a letter I recieved this morning signed by Father Gwyn himself to travel to Ariamis to meet with a... niece."  
"You have a niece?"  
"It's a very long story. Lord Gwyn decreed that she is to be put into my protection now. I assume that Brother Sen must have been promoted to other duties. Regardless, Ariamis has hollows living there, and as such I need to bring protection."  
Helene drew her new sword, now a reflective, shining estoc, and dragged a cloth over it, polishing the weapon before sheathing it once again. "I am at your service, my Lady. Where is this Ariamis?"  
  
"A painting?!" Helene gasped, dumbstruck as the two stood before the immense piece of artwork that was apparently the gateway to a new world.  
"Yes. It's my first time too, you know," responded Gwyndolin.  
The guardians before the painting, clad in pure white robes and hoods, their individuality erased, bowed to the two women and parted.  
"Are these friends of yours?" inquired Helene.  
"Don't ask. I couldn't tell you anything about them. Father trusts them, I suppose," was the response. It was true - the painting guardians were an odd bunch, and they were never seen without their robes. Gwyndolin had to admit to herself that she was rather frightened of them.  
"Ok... if I recall correctly, we have to place a hand on the painting, and... apparently it does the rest."  
As Gwyndolin cautiously approached the painting, she felt Helene's warm hand around her right. Gwyndolin raised her left, and with her ring finger tapped the fabric. It seemed to ripple in reaction. She placed her palm onto the painting, and it sunk.   
With a burst of light from around her arm, she felt a great force pull, before her arm, then head, body, snakes, and Helene were sucked into the darkness.  
  
The endless lake stretched eternally, and she was lying at the epicentre. The moon hung directly over her, overwhelming her with it's magnificence.   
But she wasn't alone.   
She turned her head leftwards, and saw it. A figure lay beside her, motionless. The dragonscale armour he wore into battle was mottled with rot and decay, his flowing white hair now strands of bristling ash, his face skeletal, hollow.   
_Brother Sen_...  
She turned her attention back to the moon. Cracked. Crimson seeped from the moon's open wound, droplets patterning onto her face. _Cold_.   
A fissure opened. The blood tide rushed.  
  
_Cold_...  
"Lady Gwyndolin?!"   
The next thing she knew was that she was leaning over the edge of a rickerty bridge, staring down into the snowy chasm below.  
Suddenly, Helene's arms pulled her away from the edge, but the blizzard they seemed to be caught in the middle of served to only rattle the bridge further. Helene almost lost her balance, but once she had hold of Gwyndolin, she used her other arm to grip the side rope for dear life.  
As they remained still, the bridge partially stabilised, for at least as much as it could.   
"No. Sudden. Movements" the knight instructed, keeping hold of Gwyndolin's arm as the two slowly began to shuffle across the bridge to the distant cliffside. As they moved, a snake curled up around their linked arms, eliciting strange looks from Helene, but ultimately choosing to ignore it, as another slithered up and they snuggled against each-other, finding whatever little comfort that they could get in the cold.  
The blizzard continued to assault them, the bridge swaying once again in the wind. But they kept moving. That was a mistake.  
As Helene cautiously crossed to the cliffside, Gwyndolin heard a snap. And the rickety surface below her disappeared. The ropes had snapped in the wind, and the bridge was collapsing. Gwyndolin took a tumble before her head smacked against the rock. She looked up.   
Helene still had a hold of her increasingly numbing arm, her other around the broken post which anchored her on her belly in the snow, teeth clenched, eye in pain.  
The knight grunted as she used her one hand to haul Gwyndolin over the cliffside, the latter's face now buried in the snow. The numbness of her face made the snow feel somewhat warm.  
Before she could process what had just happened, Helene had pulled her up to her feet, and the cold hit her again. She was red in the face.  
"My... my lady..." she managed between exhausted breaths, "are you hurt?"  
_Just my pride_...  
"I'm... so cold," shivered Gwyndolin, her teeth chattering restlessly.  
Without even a moment's hesitation, Helene pulled off her cloak, and draped it over Gwyndolin's shoulders.  
"You... don't have to..." began Gwyndolin, apologetically.  
"You need it more. Don't argue, my Lady."  
Gwyndolin sighed, conceding this battle, before bending down to scoop up a heap of snow in her bare hands. She quickly became numb to the cold between her fingers as she admired what seemed so much like a white fluffy part of a greater quilt that she had somehow intruded on. She had never seen snow before. She let it go.  
The two of them advanced upwards through the narrow winding path marked by torches and thick foliage covered in snow, Gwyndolin's unconventional lower half allowing her to glide across this most magnificent mattress, whilst her disciple plodded along, the previously undisturbed ground crunching beneath her boots, sinking and leaving new footprints with each step she took. At least Gwyndolin could appreciate something about her unfortunate constitution for once.  
The path took the women to the huge double doors of what seemed to be a modest fort, with impressively high walls, and towers reaching up to the skies to be noticeable even from the exterior.   
"This must be where she resides," remarked the knight, as she proceeded to gently knock against the wooden doors. "Lady Priscilla," she addressed, cordially, "we are here by royal decree. Would you so kindly allow us passage into your most splendid domain?"  
The only response that they recieved seemed to be the attention of a skeletal figure emerging from the trees behind them, shuffling towards Gwyndolin and emitting constant low moans. Their flesh was rotted and all they had to cover the bare necessities was a tattered loincloth. They carried a broken sword as they advanced.  
"It's a Hollow!" shrieked Gwyndolin, and before she knew what was happening, Helene had already placed herself between them, sword drawn and pointed, her left hand holding a narrow dagger with a pointed, needle-like blade.  
_Wait... that's a..._  
The Hollow clumsily swung their broken sword in the general direction of Helene, but it had connected with the dagger that the knight had swung in a backhand motion, the Hollow momentarily becoming dazed before she ended their suffering with an estoc stab to the gut. The Hollow collapsed when she withdrew her sword, the tip now stained with blood.  
She turned back to Gwyndolin, looking sad.   
"Is that really all that a human like me has to look forward to?" she murmured.  
Gwyndolin put her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "Not if I have anything to say about it," she reassured.   
Helene gave a sad smile, before Gwyndolin turned her attention towards the dagger. "That's a parrying dagger? From Carim?"  
Helene nodded. "That's where I come from," she confessed. "Any issues?"  
"Not at all."  
Awkward silence.  
"Uhhh..." began Gwyndolin awkwardly, "Is it nice there?"  
"Not at all."  
Ok then.  
Gwyndolin tip-toed over to the doors and knocked twice, with some force. It stung.  
"Lady Priscilla? It's your aunt. Open up."  
Nothing.  
Gwyndolin sighed, resigned to what she would have to say. "It's your uncle."   
Disgusting.   
"I'm here on your Lord Grandfather's instruction," she continued. "Please open up."  
And with that, the doors slowly began to ease open, creaking as they swung outwards, causing Gwyndolin to take a few "steps" back. The doors revealed a courtyard, empty of life. A broken fountain resided at the centre, the stone seemingly weathered away by time, what remained of the basin dry and missing whole slabs. The stone woman holding the pot at the centre had been decapitated, and was also missing her left arm. Lovely.   
Whilst thinking of perhaps a nice statue to replace the mess, Gwyndolin saw something move past the window to the left side barracks as they entered. She turned to Helene, put her finger over her lips, and signalled by pointing towards the small building.   
Helene crouched and slowly made her way to the building. She straightened her back against the wall, and cautiously leaned, turning her head towards the window, before snapping back into position.  
Her expression was grave as she made her way back, once again crouched. "You do not want to look in there," she warned. Gwyndolin did anyway.  
She creeped to the window to take a quick peak. Helene was right.   
Hollows. Nothing but Hollows. They seemed to have been corralled into this building, and hardly seemed comfortable. None but one were standing. Several sat motionless, some holding their heads, some lying in the hay. The only one standing had it's head turned away from the window, instead repeatedly banging it against the wall, a faint red ooze dripping down said wall.  
"Not a pretty sight, is it?" asked Helene, who was now standing beside her, forcing herself to look in as well.  
"Father taught us that without the maintaining of the fire, many more will become... this," replied Gwyndolin, hesitantly.  
"This is why his work is important, I suppose," Helene responded. "I don't want to become... this."  
They pulled themselves away from the sorry sight and made their way to the double doors of the tower beyond the fountain. They were heavy, taking the strength and full exertion of both of them to push them open, but they eventually gave way.  
The chamber was large and intimidating, a spiral staircase that snaked around the circular room inviting them to scale the tower. Absolutely not.  
Gwyndolin instead made her way to the stone double doors across the room and pulled the accompanying lever to it's side. Nothing.   
Without so much as hesitation, she placed both palms on the doors, and focused.   
Her vision began to blur, a heavy ringing invaded her ears, and she felt lightheaded and numb as she witnessed the doors come crashing down. They must have made quite the racket, but the ringing in her ears was much more prescient at this moment. But eventually it wasn't.   
  
Helene had carried the unconscious Gwyndolin across the arched bridges that served as the connecting route between the fort and quarters of their host. Gwyndolin was still bleeding from the nose, Helene dabbing her with a handkerchief until it was stained completely crimson.  
"I'm sorry I don't have any apt medical supplies with me," the crossbreed woman said apologetically. "Is she afflicted often?"  
"Yes," Helene responded coldly. "She wouldn't have had to use her magic if this place was working properly."  
"I am sorry."  
Priscilla was a remarkably tall woman, as white as snow. Whether her furry coat was worn or naturally a part of her, Helene could not tell, but her hands and feet were bare and as humanoid as any person's. Her hair was white and medium range, partially obscuring the scales on her brow. But perhaps the most striking thing about her appearence was her tail, long, wide and sweeping over the snowy ground behind her, plentiful thick white hair coating it, too. Helene allowed herself a juvenile moment, and could only describe it as fluffy.   
_I want one_.  
Priscilla kneeled before Gwyndolin, and placed a hand on her forehead, uttering "May the sun heal and strengthen thee."  
A hand shot up and grabbed the Dragonchild's arm. Gwyndolin's eyes had slammed wide open, her body lurching up and her face matching Priscilla's in how contorted with shock it was.  
"Are you...?" Gwyndolin began, before she trailed off and rested her head back down on the ground again.   
"Yes," responded Priscilla. "I am the one you are here for."  
"Why are we here?" Gwyndolin groaned, clearly not in the appropriate state of mind for any of this.  
"Your Brother said that he might be going soon," mused Priscilla. "It seems that he's preparing you to take over my... arrangements."  
"Going... soon...?" Gwyndolin managed weakly, before her nose began to once again trickle with blood, as she slowly closed her eyes and faded out of consciousness.   
"GWYNDOLIN!" Helene yelled, shaking her body, before she felt Priscilla's arms pull her away.  
"Let her rest and recover," she said softly.  
  
Some time had passed, in which Helene had taken the time to explain their moat unfortunate journey to the heart of the fort.  
"I am very sorry," Priscilla explained apologetically. "Undead sometimes seek this world. Many reach the point of hollowing. It would be unkind to turn them away."  
Helene understood to a degree. She was human, after all.  
"So, you're... their lady?" she asked.  
"I suppose I am. Thrust upon me, more so - but they're really quite sweet. They don't take kindly to intruders, though. They must have thought that you two were here with dark intent."  
Helene was confused. "So... the one that attacked us... was thinking?"  
"To a degree, they must have been. They probably lost most of themselves, but a Hollow... I'm not convinced that they lose it all. There's always something left. It must have been the part of them that sought to protect me."  
This was certainly... news.  
"That's certainly a theory. Not one I've heard," the knight admitted.  
Now Priscilla seemed confused, an eyebrow raising inquisitively. "I thought you would know more. You're human, are you not? Surely you've seen the process of undeath?" 

_I know very little..._

"Not really," she admitted. "I don't really speak to humans. I've always been alone. Just... wandering."  
"Why is that?" asked Priscilla, to which she recieved the response of Helene running her hand down her own face to indicate. "Oh."  
"Humans find me repulsive. My hometown back in Carim... well, they treated me poorly from an early age due to my... deformities. It didn't help that it was disapproved of for... other reasons. You know how people are."  
"I do not, actually," laughed Priscilla. "I have been confined to this world ever since I was born. What I know of the outside world are only from my books, and from Gwyndolin's brother."  
They both momentarily turned to the sleeping goddess, whom they had moved to a makeshift wooden bed that a painting guardian had arrived with on Priscilla's orders. She seemed so serene in her rest.  
Rather suddenly, Priscilla then asked "So, she is as wonderful as her brother describes?"  
"Oh yes. She's a lady that I travelled from far away to serve. She's even more magnificent than I had heard."  
"Sen often talks about her. He has a lot of influence regarding how she is described and written of across Lordran."  
Helene sighed. "I pray it remains that way."   
Priscilla seemed uncomfortable, and perhaps due to that, chose to change the subject.   
"So I am to expect visits from you two for the foreseeable future?"  
"I suppose so."  
Priscilla smiled. "I look forward to it. You seem to be good people."  
A sudden warmth expanded within Helene's chest - a feeling that she was not accustomed to. She looked back to the sleeping Gwyndolin, and then back to the child of dragons, her eyes becoming damp from what she had heard.   
_No one has called me good before_.   
  
Gwyndolin awakened from a bad dream. She wasn't quite sure what had happened - only recalling a flash of images: Sen's armour, a bleeding moon, Seath laughing, Priscilla and Helene, Hollows...  
She took in her surroundings. She was back in her room at Anor Londo, the bed covers pulled over her neatly.   
Slumped over in a chair beside the bed was a sleeping Helene, who must have carried her back from the painted world and all the way to bed.   
"Bless you, my good knight," murmured Gwyndolin. She wondered if she could hear her in her dreams. Little did Helene know, but Gwyndolin, in the midst of her nightmare, also heard the conversation taking place in the vicinity between the knight and the dragonchild. "I don't ever want you to feel alone again."  
Helene's head moved up, her eyes slowly opening, as she yawned and muttered "You somehow heard it all, didn't you?"  
"I did."  
She clumsily got to her feet, tucking the chair back into the desk, before turning back to her and confessing "I come from a dark place. In both respects."  
"Would you like to talk about it?"

They did, for a while.


	8. Hope and Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwyndolin finishes her project. She receives some news. Helene can only watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive CW in this chapter for parental and transphobic abuse

Gwyndolin ran her fingers over the smooth brass as it sheemed in the sun. The blacksmith continued to hammer on the metals exhaustedly.  
"You know, you can take a break at any time, Ser," she reassured.   
"You know I won't do that, my Lady," the Giant responded.   
_I know... such is your purpose..._  
Gwyndolin once again found herself wandering the halls of Anor Londo, searching for her lady. But all she found when entering her room was Gwynevere.  
"A-Ah... Sister..." she stammered, taken aback, as usual.  
"You have to stop being intimidated by me, Gwyndolin," she sighed, somewhat sympathetically.   
"I apologise... not many people visit me except for... wait... Gwyndolin?" It was rare for the Princess of Sunlight to use her name so nonchalantly. It filled her up with something resembling warmth.  
Gwynevere continued, "I accept you as my sister. I'm very sorry for the pain I've caused."  
She could hardly believe it. "Wha-What...? What... changed...?"  
Gwynevere smiled, somewhat bittersweetly. "I've been talking to your... Knightess." The hesitation between words was telling, to say the least. "And she's been helping me to understand some things. I also owe you immense thanks for watching over my daughter, Priscilla. I wish I could bear to gaze on her, but I cannot..."  
"Why...?"  
"You know why... I can't look upon the result of..."  
Oh.   
"I'll kill him, Sister. Somehow, I'll kill him."  
"Don't speak nonesense. Our Lord Father will have none of it."  
Gwyndolin felt her hands once again balling into fists. Seath would pay. She knew not how, but he would.  
"Brother Sen has already asked our Lord Father. He's not permitted to, either..." continued Gwynevere.   
"Damn this all..."  
"I know, Sister, I know..." Gwynevere said, running a hand through her hair like they would as children, before they understood their assigned roles.  
"I'm sorry..." spluttered Gwyndolin, tearing up. "I can't do anything right..."  
"Shh..."   
  
After that bout of sadness, Gwyndolin figured she should have a word with her brother. They needed to catch up after her new assignments, and she figured that he was the best to talk to.   
She rattled on Sen's door, receiving no response. As such, she waited for a while, until the familiar trudge of Helene's boots came around the corner, as her face lit up.   
"Lady Gwyndolin!" she exclaimed, rushing over to her, excited. "How are you doing today?"  
"Well, I could be better," she admitted, reflecting on the news, "but I am now that you're here."   
Helene smiled sweetly at this, her eye lighting up brilliantly.   
"So..." she returned to her best attempt at professionalism, "... are you looking for your brother?"  
"I am."   
"Well, he's not here, presently. Ser Ornstein..." she fumbled with a scroll which she presented to her, "... reports that he is undertaking a top-secret mission."   
She cursed this scroll, and handed it back. "Ornstein always accompanies Brother on his missions... this is strange..." It made her mind shudder uncontrollably. "I'll have to talk to him once he gets back."  
She rubbed her ring instinctively - not forgetting the kindness that he had done for her.  
"Uhh..." Helene shifted on the spot, rubbing her hands awkwardly. "... I'm on break right now. Is there anything you would like me to do?"  
Gwyndolin scratched her head. "It's called 'break' for a reason..."  
"I know... I just wanted to... do something nice for you..."  
Gwyndolin suddenly understood, and blushed. "Ah."  
The knight turned away, uncomfortably. "S-sorry... my lady..."  
Oh dear.  
  
And so the two ended up back in Gwyndolin's room, sat at her desk. Gwyndolin poured through her studies, and Helene casually glanced over from time to time.  
"Is that the moon?" the latter pointed out.  
"Yes..." sighed Gwyndolin. "It is. It's a mystery I'm not sure I completely want the answers to," she recalled, remembering the incident at the Archives.  
"It's quite pretty, though, isn't it?"  
"I suppose it is..." she sighed. "Father resents my connection to it. I keep having dreams and being drawn to it's essence."  
"Interesting."  
"Yes... Although recent circumstances may have made me agree with Father."  
"He can't be right about everything, you know?"  
"Mayhaps. But he knows an awful lot."  
Helene was uneasy about this. Her lady was wonderful, in every way, but her father, for the few times she had seen him, seemed to be thoroughly unpleasant. Then again... he was all that prevented her kind from hollowing... so...  
"Helene?" Gwyndolin snapped her out of her thought. "Are you ok?"  
"Yes, my Lady. I am well."   
Helene glanced around the room over to the corner, in which a tall rectangular frame was draped with rags. "You've been convering up your mirror?"  
Gwyndolin seemed embarassed. "Yes..."  
"Discomfort?"  
"Yes..."  
Helene stood, and wandered over to the mirror.  
"Hey, what are you-"   
And pulled off the rags to reveal the large, albeit simple frame.  
"Come on, my Lady, come over here!" she teased, playfully.   
Gwyndolin groaned and sauntered over to her knight, of which they both turned to behold their visage. The ladies stood side by side, Helene reaching her arm over Gwyndolin's shoulder as she looked down, embarassed.   
"Come on, my Lady, look pleased! You show me up in every way!"  
Gwyndolin slowly looked back towards the mirror, her long gown stretching downwards, covering everything, her pale, sunken face staring back. Helene's smile. She wanted to cry.  
"What's it like to be born a girl...?" she whispered.   
"Huh...?"  
"What's it like to have been born... as yourself...?"  
Helene's goofy smile changed to a sweet, sombre one. "I can't answer that for you, my Lady. I'm not like you. I never really thought about it very much..."  
Gwyndolin once again involuntarily rubbed her ring.  
"Am I a nice girl... Helene...?"  
"Of course. The best."  
As was common for whenever someone praised her, Gwyndolin assumed it to be a lie to spare her feelings, which Helene was most certainly not.  
"My Lady..." she whispered, "for what it's worth, you are much prettier than me!"  
Suddenly the two of them started laughing like idiots. Before Gwyndolin even noticed, a snake was rubbing against the knight's face, nuzzling one whom they trusted as a friend.  
"Not now..." giggled Gwyndolin, as the snake obeyed and retracted to join it's siblings behind the gown.  
"Aw, that was cute..." remarked Helene, mimicking playful disappointment.  
Gwyndolin leaned in closer. "We both have marks of what they would call 'deformity', but I care not. Let others judge. For you truly are wonderful, my Lady of The Darkling..."   
Helene seemed to understand what was happening. Just a little closer...  
A rattling at the door snapped them both out of their moment.  
Gwyndolin, exasperated, attempted to return to her most professional demeanour, still with a slight giggle. "In the name of Lord Gwyn, I order thou to come at literally any other time!"  
And said Lord of Sunlight marched into the room.  
  
Helene shifted in the corner nervously as Lord Gwyn towered over his daughter as she shifted on her bed, a look of stark terror in her eyes. The two Silver Knights that formed his escort kept an eye on her, ready to cut her down if she were to so much as move.  
"F-father... what a wonderful surprise... what do I owes't this... visit...?"  
"News that is most paramount to your ears," his voice was cold and raspy, "son." Helene could see her Lady wince at this, and bite her lip.  
"And... what news would that be... Father...?"  
"Your taking over of certain duties has been made... permanent." A chill permeated the room.  
"What... do you mean...? Will Brother Sen be away for a long time...?"  
He leaned in closer, causing her to recoil ever slightly.  
"You have no brother."  
  
Helene followed close behind as Gwyndolin was marched to the hall before Gwynevere's bedchamber, where the statues of three gods stood. Sen on the left, Gwynevere on the right, and Lord Gwyn's imposing figure in the middle, holding an impossibly large sword.  
"Your former brother is a traitor to the Sun," bellowed Gwyn to his dumbfounded daughter. "He questioned my goals. Showed sympathy with those disgusting creatures. Refused my orders..."  
Helene knew that they were talking about Dragons. Privately, in her heart of hearts, despite the stories that had been disseminated across the realm, she longed to meet one.  
"... and to further insult me, enabled YOU."  
Gwyndolin began to weep, before her father slapped her with considerable force, causing her to fall to her knees. "My only son... a GIRL... what a miserable display..."  
Helene looked up to the balcony, and saw the figure of Ornstein, as still as a statue, yet she could tell from the dampness of his helm that he had been crying.   
"I was willing to abide a lot of the former God of War's nonesense. My rendering his charge of information concerning the family being one of them. You as 'she'. The son that would have rather been a daughter. Do you have any idea how weak that makes me look?! A failure to craft my heirs in my intended image?"   
Helene's throat was gradually setting on fire, her stomach churning at what she was hearing. She had to throw up, but forced herself to refrain.  
"But now, thanks to his betrayal, he can now be struck from the annals of history. His name will be forgotten. Everything will begin anew." He pulled the sobbing Gwyndolin off of the floor and clasped his hand over her mouth. "You wish to be a daughter? Fine. I have already instructed Seath to re-write history."  
Helene's hands curled into fists.   
"How do you like this story? A son born under the moon, and as such, raised in it's aura? You were intentionally raised as a daughter. That is what the people will be told. My will, realised absolute. That is how the damage can be repaired." He released her, and she once again fell to the ground, tears dried, silent, eyes utterly empty.  
Helene knew it was her duty to run to her Mistress' side, to protect her from any who would do her harm. But this would likely get them both killed, she reflected bitterly, legs shaking.  
"And now, my Dark Sun, I charge you to pledge your loyality to me. Use your power. Erase the statue."  
Gwyndolin, shaking, got to her feet. Helene could no-longer see her face as she stood before Sen's statue, but it was doubtless devoid of any of the life that had sparked in it when they were together. The Dark Sun raised her hands, still shaking, and deep blue energy began to congregate around her, enveloping her, and spreading to the statue of her brother. Cracks began to form, as the head of Sen's likeness split apart, and the rest of the statue crumbled down, spreading a great fog of smoke and dust across the hall.   
  
Helene lay in her bed, reflecting on the day's events. Gwyn had revealed his true self to her, at the very least. The Gods only knew how long Gwyndolin had been subject to that self. She fantasized about taking her Lady and running away, far away, to a distant land. Some cold, dark, and very gentle place that the Gods would never find. Where they could live.   
A knock at the door.  
"Come in..."   
Ornstein, still helmed. He pulled a chest behind him, exerting great force, and placed it before her bed.   
"Ornstein... what is this...?"  
"She... wanted you to have this. Lady Gwyndolin... and I promise you, Helene, I'm never going to call her otherwise... she and a good friend hand-crafted this for you..."   
He left without another word, leaving her to stumble out of bed and clumsily open the heavy chest. Her eyes met the contents with some surprise. Brass gauntlets, leggings, armour, and a beautiful helm.   
  
Gwyndolin continued to sob in her bed, resting her head against the damp pillow. Everything was finished... Sen was gone... she would be lied about... her Father would forever despise her... it wasn't worth it... it just wasn't worth it...  
She was afraid of the future. She truly was. Nothing had ever been certain, but now life had become much more hopeless. There was nothing that she could do. She tapped her ring. All that remained of Sen.  
A soft knocking reverberated from the door. Gwyndolin used her remaining strength to haul herself out of bed and open the door, carefully.   
"Hello," addressed Helene, in her nightgown. "Your gift was nice."  
"That's good..." she murmured. "Why are you here at such a late hour...?"  
"I just thought I'd come over."  
"How impertinent..." Gwyndolin muttered, not sure if she was being serious, or even had the strength to joke right now.   
Gwyndolin wandered to her desk, and began to take out her books, figuring that she wasn't going to sleep anyway. "Close the door when you come in, please."   
Helene seemed to adhere to this when Gwyndolin heard the door shut. "Oh..." she murmured, "and make yourself at home. Would you like to sit together or some..." she turned, "... thing...?"  
The knight had disrobed.   
"Oh."  
"Would you like to...?" Helene asked.  
"I think I would, if that's alright with you...?"  
"Why wouldn't it be...?"  
"You might not like what you find under this gown. I doubt you've been with a girl like me..."  
Helene giggled. "We can work around the snakes."  
Gwyndolin gave a bittersweet smile and let out a quiet laugh. She was falling in love.


End file.
